Sanitarium's Dues
by ladramaticoentrance
Summary: "A boy, a fox, and a lone wolf, each with a sin all their own, and a story that was theirs to tell. Not that any of that mattered, of course. That was what Lucifer loved about his work; every sinner was made equal. All that mattered here was your sin." What happens when the characters of REPO! are sent to the Carnival?
1. At the Carnival Tonight

**A/N: REPO! The Genetic Opera/ The Devil's Carnival Crossover**

**What happens when the characters of Repo! are sent to the Devil's Carnival? Because, let's face it; they certainly weren't getting into Heaven. But what happens when they meet some rather interesting and strangely familiar carnival folk? Read on to find out!**

**Rated T for now, for language and suggestive material. May get a bit graphic as far as violence and swearing goes as the chapters go on.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_It is often said that the deepest parts of Hell are reserved for those who dared to remain neutral in times of great moral conflict. Those who chose a side are at least commended for their efforts, regardless of which side they'd chosen. Right and wrong is a completely different issue, you see._

_It has also been said that Hell is full of musical amateurs._

_Funny how often those two coincide._

"Well, would you look at that…"

Yellow claws traced gently over the dog-eared pages of an ancient-looking book, pausing briefly over a small group of illustrations. Small passages beside the drawings were printed in a twisted, curvy font, the names printed out curling around the reader's mind like a snake formed of ink lines, writhing around in his nervous system to form a wicked smirk on his painted face. Whatever he was reading seemed to please him greatly, his blackened lips showing an unnatural amount of expression for the otherwise stoic figure.

"New playmates," he chuckled, skimming each story with a growing sense of pleasure. It was just all-too convenient; each plot seemed to weave together with the next, the timing perfect for each…it was if they'd planned their endings in advance for him to piece back together again. He couldn't have planned it better himself…but oh, how he'd tried. He'd been expecting these guests for quite some time. Their souls were the lowest of the low, far from worthy of the pearly gates. Only the darkest regions of his carnival would be suited for these unlucky ducks.

Only once did he seem to frown, and it was brief, his mood seemingly undampened. One of the passages seem to fade from the page, as though it were being erased. And then, nothing. As though it had never been written in. Well, that one wasn't much of a surprise. Out of the four of them, if any were to have been chosen, it would have been _that_ one. God did tend to pick favorites, after all. That was one thing the world could say about God and the Devil; one of them was fair, and it was the one who at least had the decency to keep his rules straight.

"Three out of four…not bad," he nodded to himself. Frankly, in his opinion, that particular plotline was no real loss. The ones he had left to work with would do just fine, for he _and_ his actors.

Scratching absentmindedly at a horn, the playwright paused, mulling over the three usable stories carefully. He'd been planning on these three for quite some time now; yet as all knowing as he was, he'd been taken a bit by surprise by the suddenness of their arrival. This would have to be a perfect performance for such _special_ guests as these. Sinners of such a particular nature were meant to be treated with simply the best care available for them.

A boy, a fox, and a lone wolf, each with a sin all their own, and a story that was theirs to tell. Not that any of that mattered, of course. That was what Lucifer loved about his work; every sinner was made equal. Regardless of whatever meaningless dribble you'd involved yourself in in life, all that mattered here was your sin. None were alike, yet none were lesser or greater than the other. Everything was equal here, and you would neither be rewarded nor punished any differently than any other pathetic mongrels that had found themselves within the carnival.

And what was Lucifer if he was not fair?

Unlike heaven, where even the dirtiest of sinners had somehow nestled their way in for the pettiest of good deeds. A deathbed confession, a last-minute apology, and insistence of good intentions. Men of God, indeed. Misers, beggars and fools loitered around Saint Peter's gates, while Kings, Knights and Heroes sat on thrones of hay bales and broken Ferris wheels, completely unaware and uncaring of their lofty positions underground. A bitter growl escaped the King of Kings' lips, a small flash of hot anger boiling as his eyes passed over where the missing passage had been. The lettering was still very, very faint, like invisible ink. Perhaps the final decision had yet to be made for _that_ one.

"It'll be a fine performance indeed, won't it, my pet?" A clawed hand reached down below the arm of his chair, coming to rest on a mess of tangled black curls. The inky mess lay atop a black head, and this head was attached to the nimble body of a popular carny, of which Lucifer was rather fond. Crouched at the foot of his throne, she made the perfect little lap dog, practically bouncing with joy at the "pet." The obedient red grin plastered across her snow-white face almost made the dark Lord smile. Almost.

Perhaps Lucifer did not pick favorites; but he did tend to take a fancy with one particular carny or sinner every now and again. After all, they were his children now, and unlike God, he intended to show them the proper attention they deserved. Even if his "attention" might seem a bit cruel in the eyes of said children.

Lucifer raked his claw hand through the clown girl's curls a second time, smirking at how she was practically purring at his touch. She was so demanding for attention. So desperate. So _weak_. Most of them were, he supposed, but she was different. Usually she was rather outspoken, smart-mouthed, and able to think for herself. That was what drew him to her, and made her one of his select few that were permitted entrance into his tent…when he called for them, of course. But here, in the confines of his presence, she was willing to roll over and beg for his attention. Her obedience was rather satisfying, he would admit.

That was another difference between he and God; God demanded obedience, while Lucifer simply preferred it._ During your time on Earth you were restricted to God's orders, _he would always say. _Here, you are free to either obey or ignore my rules. Since you are in my domain, I maintain the right to punish you for such, but I will not think less of you for choosing to rebel. I'm not one for hypocrisy._

"Run along now, child," Lucifer instructed, untangling his fingers from the girl's thick locks. She pouted for a moment, her red painted lips poking out slightly, but a flickering glance of warning in Lucifer's eyes moved her to her feet. She grinned brightly again, bowing lowly to her master and blowing kisses childishly as she skipped out the entranceway. He smirked again, having half-expected her to run out on all fours. Knowing Wick, it wouldn't have been much of a surprise if she had.

"_It's show time…"_

* * *

"Are you sure you're dealing them right?"

"Of coursssse I'm sssure. Want to try for yourssself?"

"I've just never seen someone start out a game of black jack with only seven cards…"

"Well, there'sss your first problem; one, we're playing Go Fisssh, and two, you don't know how to gamble."

"I think you're just cheating. Cheater! You're nothing but a lying snake!"

The Twin rolled his yellow eyes, ignoring his opponent's apparent umbrage over his dealing skills. Another typical day under the warm-up tent; annoyed carnies aggravating each other further as they tried to pass the time before roll call. It was always worse when your friends – no, not friends, that wasn't the right word – were preoccupied with something; that left you alone and bored and usually stuck talking to the Magician.

The Twin was stuck in the position of the latter for the moment, simply due to the fact that Wick was currently missing. Again. Normally they would play cards to pass the time, but since she wasn't here, that left both he and the Magician alone…and therefore stuck with each other. Their relationship was…difficult, at best. The Twin found the Magician to be annoying (as most everyone did), while the Magician found the Twin just plain creepy, as well as rather egotistical. Most everyone agreed with the two. Wick was the Twin's best "friend" he had in this whole place, while she was the Magician's seemingly _only_ friend here, save for that mangy old rabbit he was always carrying around.

Said rabbit was currently peeking out of its owner's hat, sniffing around the brim curiously while the Magician squinted mistrustingly at the cards in his hand. The Twin's half closed eyes perked up with interest, beadily observing the creature. He could practically feel the heat rising off its little body from here…that reminded him of the fact that he hadn't eaten anything decent this morning. His gaze flickered over to the Magician again, who was thankfully still eying his hand of cards.

_Perfect_.

If he could just inch a little closer…perhaps he could coax the rabbit out a little farther with his hand. He extended his scaly arm, keeping his eyes on the Magician's face. _That's right…just a little closer…_

Just as he was about to snap his fingers shut around the poor creature's neck, the other carny's gaze wavered from his cards, and quickly caught sight of the treacherous plot in the making. With a shocked gasp, he jerked his hat – and the potential snack – out of reach, glaring angrily at the disappointed Twin. Wands were drawn, claws and teeth came out, a premature battle in the making; and the only source of entertainment so far for the entire afternoon.

"_You – I will skin you and turn your scales into a suitcase!"_

"_You haven't got the gutsss…musst be nimble, mussst be quick. Lest I kick in your candlessstick."_

"_Those rhymes of yours…let's see how well you fair without any 'candle-ssss-tick' at all!"_

"What in the _hell_ are you morons arguing over now?"

Pausing mid-strike, both the Magician and the Twin turned sharply at the accusation, ready to shift their anger in the direction whoever it happened to be. Their anger seemed to melt, however, as they turned to lay their eyes upon a familiar little clown girl, hands placed accusingly on her hips, an annoyed frown cracking her porcelain features. The two slowly lowered their weapons, the Magician tucking away his wand, the Twin's deadly expression slowly dissipating (fangs and all). They made a rather sheepish sight, the two of them, though there was still unfinished business shared in their gaze as they briefly glanced back at one another.

"_Well_?" She persisted, folding her arms over her chest now like a mother who'd caught her children with their hands in the cookie jar (or, in the Twin's case, in the rabbit cage). However, there was a spark of amusement in her dark eyes. She wasn't the sort to stay angry for long; death was too long for such nonsense, she always said. There was plenty of time for other nonsenses, however. Such as preparing for the show with her friends…or whatever they were.

"Wick, you're back!" The Magician was the first to break the ice, readjusting his hat with an actual smile. The crinkles in his grease paint as the grin spread across his face showed his age badly, but sometimes Wick wondered if he'd ever really grown up at all. A carny with a worst-case scenario of Peter Pan Syndrome; now there was an act in the making, if he wasn't so useless at everything else. He was really just a very large child, come to think of it.

And that was why she liked him. Sometimes.

"Where were you running off to thisss time?" The Twin hissed, a constant sense of curiosity in his tone. His voice was oily, deceitful, and all together quite venomous…but like most poisons, there was a sweetness before the bitter. Even now it sometimes gave her chills. Like on those dark nights after the show had passed, and the Ferris wheel had stopped spinning, when he would find her sitting alone, and talk with and hold her for hours on end, just so she could hear his voice twisting and spinning those rhymes she loved. It was only a passing affection, she assumed, but the two got along well enough for it to be "normal" for them.

She smiled at them both, but, as usual, she gave no answer. She only stepped past them, plopping down on a nearby hay bale and pulling back her familiar pigtails without a word. She hummed a little tune as she tugged at the tangled coils, but where she'd heard it even she couldn't say. She smiled a dreamy sort of smile, as though she were permanently lost in thought...something rather uncommon for Wick. The two men looked at one another again, this time in mutual confusion.

Wick was by no means a "stable" individual; it was quite normal for her to go through odd little phases like this. But they usually lasted only a short while. For the past few weeks, Wick had been disappearing without warning…more so than usual, that is. She never gave any explanation for where or why she had gone; only smiled and shrugged, if even that. It was getting on their nerves; the Magician's because he was nervous (as usual), and the Twin's because he was curious (also as usual). The latter was beginning to get an idea just where she'd been sneaking off to, and why she was so hush-hush about it, but he'd wisely kept his mouth shut for the time being. Until now.

"She speaks, yet says nothing; what of that?" Twin quoted in that witty fashion of his that got under the Magician's skin. He spread out on the hay bale behind Wick, stretching his arms behind his head and laying his hat upon the ground beside himself. His mess of black hair was as oily as the rest of him, but he didn't seem to care. Neither did Wick, apparently, as she merely wrinkled her nose at him, ruffling his curls with a wave of her gloved hand. The Magician looked almost hurt by their closeness; he'd always been jealous of how friendly they were with one another, and how he sometimes caught Wick staring at the snake with a hungry look in her eyes that nearly matched his own. He swallowed hard, watching the two carefully and hoping his displeasure wasn't so apparent on his face as it was in his thoughts.

"Contrary, contrite; someone's been with the boss tonight," the Twin smirked, interrupting the other carnies' separate trains of thought and causing both parties to eye him with shock. The snake only smiled, flashing his sharp teeth at the two knowingly. How he'd known was best left unsaid. Not that he'd ever give away his secrets in the first place.

"How did you know?" Wick demanded, despite all this. She looked angry now, and a bit flustered. Her white clown makeup was turning a scarlet hue, especially her ears. The Twin might have found it cute, had she not suddenly jumped to sit on his chest and smack him repeatedly with her fists. It didn't hurt, really, but it came as a slight surprise, with his breath knocked out of his lungs by her weight and lightly pounding fists. "Tell me!"

"Easy, pet, easy!" He laughed, more amused than wounded. This only flustered her further, it would seem, but he grabbed her wrists as she started to pound him again. She scowled at him, poking her lip out indignantly like a child who's secret had been discovered.

"No fair," she whined, to which the Twin merely laughed. He moved into a sitting position, still keeping her in his lap, but let her wrists free, replacing his own hands around her waist instead. "No fair" indeed. She'd worked so very hard to keep it a secret, and now the Twin had gone and ruined the whole thing. How dare he so rudely deduce nearly a month's work of secrecy, with all the difficult trials of sneaking off without suspicion and keeping her mouth shut?

The Magician cleared his throat, both as a chance to shift topics and to distract himself from staring too long at the way the Twin's scaled hands seemed to curve perfectly along the shape of Wick's hip bones. "Whoa, Wick! Rubbin' elbows with the Boss? Nice!" He tried to sound encouraging. Perhaps she was trying to get them more involved in the acts than usual through obedience.

"By the way she'sss blushing, methinks she'sss rubbing more than just 'elbowsss,'" the Twin smirked, to which both Wick _and_ the Magician reddened further. Wick looked almost furious; the Magician looked a bit hurt. The Twin was really pushing it now; one could tell by the way Wick jerked him forward by the collar, their noses squashed against each other as she glared him in the eye. She made quite an amusing sight to the Twin; to the Magician, she looked rather frightening. He'd had plenty of experience with that look before. Twin was definitely in for it now.

"Take it back!" She growled, her white teeth contrasting her red painted lips. Twin couldn't help but think how she resembled a small dog when she was upset. And when she was excited. And when she ate. And when she slept…most of the time, really. Always hyper and alert. And perhaps a little annoying.

"Take it back right now, you slimy, no-good, son of a-"

"_Listen up, people, listen up!"_

Interrupted, Wick's head snapped up in attention, as did most of the other carnies meandering around the tent. Time for roll call, as indicated by the source of the instruction waiting in the center of the ring. The Ticket Keeper stood, having seemingly appeared out of nowhere (they were plenty used to this by now), with tonight's script in hand, much to the eager delight of each of the carnies. Each of the main acts were currently present, save for the Scorpion, but that was no surprise. As usual, each hoped they'd be picked as a special act in tonight's performance, though they'd all take part in some way or another. There was a strange expression on the Ticket Keeper's face – almost like eagerness. Though any expression at all was normally a surprise for the man, this particular one was especially uncharacteristic for the normally stoic gentleman.

"Three acts again tonight, everyone. But remember; keep sharp for our guests. Never know when one might stray off the path," he warned, the corners of her mouth twisting into a scowl. Oh, how he hated rule breakers; any sense of irony in this trait was lost on this stiff individual. "I've got word from the boss; these three sinners are particularly dangerous. They are not to be trusted….not that I think any of you will have much trouble with that," his gaze flickered to the Painted Doll momentarily, as it often did whenever he was addressing the group like this. She smiled and nodded demurely at him, making his faint smile reappear for a moment, and making the rest of the crowd turn and roll their eyes. Half the group was betting that there was something going on between them; the other half merely though that Doll was giving away more than just kisses to be selected at roll call every night, and the rest simply didn't care, so long as they didn't have to endure those painfully obvious looks anymore between the two of them.

The Ticket Keeper cleared his throat, squinting over the script as the group waited anxiously over the names to be called. "Let's see…alright. First act is Wick and her-" The Ticket Keeper paused, stopping himself mid-sentence. "Sorry. Just Wick," he corrected himself, looking just as confused as the rest of the crowd. The Woe Maidens were always paired with Wick. She was their "mistress" after all. The disappointment was clear on their faces, but Wick only smiled to herself. She'd known what was coming all night, and now she didn't seem to care who else knew it.

"Next up is the Twin," he went on. The carny in question grinned a wicked grin, stepping forward next to Wick with a pleased hiss. Still annoyed with him, the clown girl stepped away to the side, only succeeding in making the snake man roll his eyes.

"Last act is…hold on a moment," the Keeper squinted even harder at the font, lower the glasses strapped to his forehead down in hopes of seeing better. He acted as though he didn't quite believe what he was seeing, and was very obvious about the fact that he didn't want to read it aloud.

"…the Magician."

A startled gasp seemed to leave everyone's lips. Whispers started, and the Magician, who'd glumly turned away from the roll call after the other two were called, spun around suddenly in dramatic shock. He was _never_ picked to be a leading act; not in quite awhile, anyway. And everyone knew how incompetent he was; to think that he'd be chosen to be part of such an important show over acts like Doll or the Scorpion was certainly something to talk about.

And were they talking about it. The Painted Doll had looked as shocked as he had, and had since turned sharply on her heel with an air of distaste. The Ticket Keeper looked after her apologetically, and almost started to head after her; but, rules were rules, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. Lucifer had picked the lineup, not him. Everyone else seemed more surprised and curious about tonight's acts than insulted in not having been picked. That was at least something to be thankful for once.

"Remember, people…tonight is a very special performance," the Keeper added, extended his arms and motioning for the carnies to settle down. "…We're talkin' possible future carnies here," he added in a lower voice, which succeeded in finally silencing the rest of the group. The three acts looked at one another almost uneasily, each wondering a little why they'd been the ones picked. Even Wick wasn't quite sure why Lucifer had wanted her for the job. Contrary to the Twin's belief, it had been _he_ who'd come to _her_, though for what reason she could not say.

As the crowd began to disperse, the Ticket Keeper made one more glance in the Painted Doll's direction, looking almost desperately sorry as he met her gaze. She was standing in the way of the tent flap, but only turned to leave once he'd seen her, her cracked features completely expressionless. He sighed, and turned to his three carnies, who'd taken again to conversing privately with one another, until his eyes fell on the object of his injustice.

"_You_," he spoke in a harsh, low voice, grabbing the Magician's shoulder. The carny looked a bit startled, as usual. The Keeper resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and settled for a light glare. "Did you hear what I said? We're talkin' big game here. Not your average, cheap parlor trick kinda deal. You'd better get out there and show your stuff, you understand? In other words: don't fuck it up."

The Magician nodded numbly, breathing a small sigh of relief as the Ticket Keeper released him, heading off in the direction of the Painted Doll. The Tamer, who'd been positioned right behind him as always, followed shortly behind, his one-eyed gaze passing over the three of them suspiciously. Another sharp glare from some of the other main carnies (as well as a few sidelong glances towards Wick from the Woe Maidens), and they were left alone.

Again, the Magician was the first to speak. "Do…you know anything about this, Wick?" If she really was getting…_involved_ with the Boss, she must know that something was up. But as he turned to face the girl, she was already walking away in the direction the others had been headed. She was smiling, which led him to believe that she did in fact know what was going on, but sometimes the Magician wondered if Wick even knew what she herself was doing.

Most of the time, she did not.

He turned towards the Twin, seeing that Wick was otherwise distracted. "Well…I guess we'd better get ready, huh?"

But he was gone.

Alarmed, the Magician spun around, only to find that the two had merely walked off together. He should have known…

"_Hey, wait up, guys! Wait for me!"_


	2. The Boy and the Frogs

**Chapter II: The Boy and the Frogs**

**Wow, thanks for the great response on the first chapter, guys! I wasn't really expecting anyone other than my tumblr friends to read it, haha. I'm glad people seem to be enjoying this so far!**

**R&R, please!**

* * *

_It was raining. Hard. _

_Water droplets pounded against the pavement, mixing together with the grime and dirt of the city, creating a swill of mud and filth that would never completely wash off. No one noticed; they were all far too busy paying attention to what was in their wallet to see the filth they'd made of their world._

_Zydrate junkies and street dealers loitered the streets, ignoring the rain as they went about their nightly business. Some simply couldn't feel it any longer; their high was too strong, or they'd just shot up for the last time. No one noticed; people were dying everyday, after all. What was one more penniless Z-addict littering the alley, anyway?_

_This was Sanitarium at its finest hour, dressed in its most expensive garb. What was the value of human life, anyway?_

"Now, I believe it's time for a story..."

Lucifer chuckled, a faint hint of excitement in his expression as he gleefully turned the pages of his book. Three fables to read tonight, and three new guests to arrive on cue. And, hopefully – he was getting ahead of himself now – three new carnies were to be made as well.

But that was for a later time to decide.

First, he had to read. And hope that the stories didn't disappoint him.

Clearing his throat – _he liked to read aloud_ – he licked his thumb and forefinger to turn a page, until he seemed to find one that he liked. The first of the fables was a short one; but just like the rest (_and several other things_), length was not necessarily an indicator of quality. For one thing, the subject matter was a rather short lesson to learn, but that did not mean that it was easy. Especially in the case of this particular sinner.

"Now, let's see what's first…ah. _The Boy and the Frogs."_

* * *

_A man of genuine expense lingered within the limits of this cesspool out of boredom, with little attempt to seek an alternative. A switchblade was in his hand, opening and closing with a dull 'click' that hinted toward its frequent use. There was a dull, seeking look in his eyes – seeking junkies, muggers, cops; anyone who'd make a few decent stains on his starch white button-up._

_It had been days since he'd had any sort of relief from this seemingly perpetual boredom. No stabbing, no strangling, no bloodshed, and hell, you could forget about sex. Not like he could get it up without a little extra blood flowing anyway._

_He cringed at the thought. Though he was loath to admit it, he knew he'd have to come to terms with it sooner or later; he was getting older; too old, in fact, for this shit. Too old to be wasting his time on a dirty street corner like a filthy Z-whore whining about how he couldn't get fucked unless he fucked something up. 'No more murders,' his sister had said. 'You're making us look like shit.'_

_Yeah, as if her lying, synthetic lips didn't already do a good enough job of that._

_Well, Luigi-Fucking-Largo was no P.R. agent's bitch; he wasn't about to restrain himself into submission for his pathetic cunt of a baby sister, and he sure as hell wasn't about to go home without at least making a dent in someone's insides. To hell with Amber, to hell with GeneCo, and to hell with this rotten shit stain of an island._

_He needed to kill._

_He needed blood._

_It had been so long._

_Now that the decision had taken root in his brain, there was no stopping it from growing into reality. Once Luigi Largo had his mind set on something, he rarely changed it. He walked further into the alleyway, ignoring the posters that warned of constant monitoring from GeneCops and Amber alike. Big Brother apparently had a Little Sister; whether she was watching or not mattered little to him now. The bloodlust was too strong for him to be concerned with petty things like possible disinheritance._

_Each alley led deeper and deeper into the underbelly of Sanitarium. Crucifixus was just like its residents; it was far uglier underneath the surface, and in the dark. He was reaching Zydrate territory now, where the dealers lingered and did their business like it was a covered bazaar, with little fear of reprimand. But, on their toes as usual, most would turn tail at the sight of a Largo, leaving their customers stranded to try and make sense of their way back home (if they managed to keep from getting shot on sight). These so-called "rebels" were no better than the powers they so despised, once you got down to it. What a shocker._

_Reaching an alcove of sorts within the twists and turns of the deeper alleys, Luigi found the place to be rather uninhabited, save for a few strung-out Z-whores and scalpel sluts. But not a dealer in sight. Which was rather unusual for this time of night, when the addicts were abroad and the sun was well hidden and sure to stay that way for a while longer. He might have found that odd had he not been so desperate for the victims. Most were obviously waiting for their dealer or a good time, or both. They glanced towards him, but obviously had enough Zydrate in their system to keep them from caring so much when they saw that he wasn't the man they were looking for. They had nowhere to run, and seemingly no reason to…if they even could run at this point. Easy pickings, in other words._

_The first whore to approach him was also the first to go. Clad in unfashionably torn fishnets and neon hair, her(?) makeup smeared, her dirty clothes unkempt and practically falling off, she stumbled over to Luigi like a dog who'd just seen someone drop food on the floor. She was practically drooling, a back alley smile that might attract some lowlife too drugged up to realize what he was fucking and where; the signature look for Sanitarium's ladies of the night. But not a sight for the sober, and certainly not one for a man with class. Luigi sneered in disgust before his knife even came out. Fucking slut peasants. They all looked strangely similar to Amber, but with more sperm visible in their already graying hair._

_Her tugging on his sleeve quickly prompted the six inches of steel in his hand to slice through her abdomen, as well as the sharp, strangled gasp that rang in his ears afterword. The poor whore hadn't even hit the ground before he'd jerked the blade out again, wiping it on his trousers with a scowl._

_The reaction that followed was priceless; the addicts scattered like rats, a few squealing and gasping in surprise, but none dared scream. No one would notice, anyway. They'd merely mistake it for a repo victim, and double lock their doors, mentally counting back the days it had been since their last payment out of fear. No, a scream would do them no good. Rather, it would only provoke the Largo further. _

_The ones that couldn't take off were next. They only managed to stumble a few steps before Luigi was hacking at their throats, a low growl escaping him as he made stains of them. The red stained his shirt with one clean swipe of his arm, and he couldn't help but inwardly smirk as the warmth of the liquid soaked through his expensive clothing. He hadn't ruined a good shirt in days._

_"Fucking peasants," he muttered, grabbing another whore by the hair as she tried to run away on her ridiculous six-inch stilettos. Finally, she let out a scream, and Luigi winced, his knife cramming into her chest cavity up to the hilt. The sound was like painful music, and the splatter that followed was applause for a concert well played. _

_Most made a greater effort to crawl away by this point, but few succeeded; ignorant to screams and cries for help, Luigi fulfilled his need, practically shuddering with satisfaction as he slashed through arteries and tendons with faint 'snaps.' He was in his element, drowning in it. _

_Luigi Largo was an artist._

_And their bodies made such perfect canvases. They were so ugly, so plain and petty and weak, just like everyone else. The blood he painted them with made their outsides match their insides…quite literally. _

_So far his face had been a blank case of emotion; a slate board, showing no expression save for an annoyed scowl as he did his work. It was only when he'd hit the fourth or fifth Z-addict (each of them giving out an awkward, almost-orgasmic cry as they blood poured out of various orifices he'd made into their skin), when he reached a sort of satisfied climax, his face began to twitch into a smirk. The dark smirk grew, turning into a deadly sort of clown grin._

_Then, Luigi Largo laughed. _

_It was a cold, harsh laugh at first, before it started to burst into short spasms, like a child at play. His blade dug hard into a particularly vital artery of an unfortunate victim, spraying him with a wave of red. He laughed so hard he snorted, tears rolling down his cheeks and shaking to the point where he had to stop for a minute and lean forward against his knees. The laughter shook him harder still, threatening to send him toppling backwards on his ass into the mess of blood and gore. _

_It had been far, far too long._

_Stumbling backwards, much like the way the addicts had done moments before, Luigi was surprised to fall back against something solid. Solid, yet…soft. He was only vaguely aware of the fact that he'd fallen into a person before two large hands found their way around his head. One wrapped around his mouth, silencing his laughter and seemingly putting a stopper on his pulse. The other stayed steady against the back of his head, and Luigi's eyes widened, rage and sickening fear building up simultaneously as the foreign grip tightened._

_All this had barely registered as his head was twisted harshly to the side with a dull 'snap.'_

_The eldest heir to GeneCo fell to the ground, unable to feel the drop any longer, dead._

_No one noticed._

* * *

Lucifer grinned with pleasure, his eyes narrowing with a sort of grim satisfaction at the story's turn of events. Ah, but it was not over yet. There was of course the difficult business of finding an _ending_.Death was not necessarily a synonym for "finished" down here. Perhaps postponed, but never finished.

Turning another page, Lucifer came across an illustration. A child was playing near a pond, innocently enough. But upon closer inspection, one would notice a rather sinister grin on the boy's face. Following the line of vision from his outstretched arm, several rocks were drawn sailing through the air to land into the pond below. Many frogs were seen jumping frantically out of line of the dropping missiles, but many seemed rather unlucky. Other frogs bobbed beside them in the water; it would appear that they'd croaked, pardon the pun.

Ah, children.

Funny how old some of them grew to be.

"One day, a boy was playing near a small pond," Lucifer spoke aloud, eyes following the dark print of the page once more. He was curious now to see what his carnies would do with the boy, and just how he'd react to their "hospitality." Children were often the most difficult to teach, especially stubborn ones like this. It didn't help much that the carnies who'd been assigned to this sinner weren't very adult-like themselves.

But then again, who better to teach children, than other children?

* * *

"Where the fucking hell _am_ I?"

Luigi swore, rubbing the back of his head with a cringe. He attempted to sit up (key word being "attempted"), finally managing to push himself up on his elbows, and groaned. A stabbing pain shot up his spinal cord, his head throbbing like a large infection. His eyes ached as he opened and rubbed them, taking a few moments to come into focus and recognize any of his surroundings. Apparently, he was laying on something rough and itchy…glass? No, no, definitely not glass, though it stuck and scratched at his skin like glass. It was dry, whatever it was, and hurt his eyes to stare at for long.

…it was straw.

Luigi Largo, the heir to the greatest and most powerful company in the world, was lying on a bed of straw.

He scowled, sitting up further and immediately regretting it as the pain in his skull increased. The straw scratched harder against his skin as he moved, and he groaned again, more miserably than the first time.

Over all, he felt like shit. It felt similar to a hangover, but without the bitter taste in his mouth or the occasional GENtern/sibling sprawled out across the floor beside him to act as a pincushion. Just what had happened last night, and where was he now? Rubbing his eyes again, his retinas finally beginning to function, he turned himself around, and his eyes adjusted to the swirl of bright colors surrounding him. Reds and yellows began to form lights and brightly painted signs and booths. _Booths_? A few of them lay scattered around within his line of vision, which wasn't very far. Straw and dirt littered the ground bellow, leading up to the large pile of straw he'd woken up in. It all had a very carnival-like feel to it. For a brief moment, he thought he'd passed out at the Genetic Fair.

But no…that was months ago, wasn't it? Before…before everything else had happened. Before that night at the Opera, and before Amber had taken over. His scowl grew at the memory, and he dismissed it, trying to remember where he'd been last night for certain. Looking up towards the sky (or perhaps the ceiling, he really wasn't sure), his eyes widened further in confusion. He was under a circus tent. Carnivals weren't common in Sanitarium, and certainly not at this time of year. It had been winter last night, the cold nipping at his skin when he'd left the house…but now it felt quite warm, despite the fact that this tent _must_ be outside somewhere.

What _had_ happened last night?

He remembered very little. All he knew was that there had been bloodshed, hopefully done by himself. He remembered someone else being there, but he couldn't make out their face. Had there been a fight? A sick feeling of dread started to grow in his stomach. Wherever he was, he was starting to get the feeling that it all had to do with whoever – or whatever – he'd run into last night.

Suddenly, his train of thought was interrupted by faint laughter in the distance. It was rather high-pitched and annoying; then again, laughter and happiness in general tended to annoy Luigi Largo. But this was particularly grating on his already fried nerves. It sounded like a young girl at first, but then a second laugh broke through the atmosphere. This was more masculine, but only slightly. It was even more annoying than the first, sounding like an odd cross between Roger Rabbit and a clown. Honestly, he was beginning to wonder whether or not he was actually hearing these things, or if they were simply in his apparently damaged head.

_"Little boy blue…"_

Now there was a voice. It was high-pitched and feminine, like the first laugh. It seemed to be beckoning someone…was it calling to him? No, most definitely not; for one thing, no one called Luigi Largo a "little boy" (or little _anything_, for that matter) and lived to tell about it. Still, the name sounded familiar, like something from a story he'd once heard. Maybe it was something for him to hear. Glancing around, the eldest Largo searched for the source of the noise. But he was alone.

It was only when he looked down that he decided to scream.

Someone – who was very soon about to become a no one – had dressed him in the most disgustingly hideous outfit he'd ever seen or worn. He looked like something out of a German freakshow – he'd been dressed in a child's school uniform, with a white, short-sleeved button up with a peter pan collar, and a pair of blue suspenders and shorts. His shoes were also blue, with knee-high white socks, and he couldn't help but think that he looked like something out of Pavi's childhood closet. To his dismay, there was a hat laying beside him which matched the outfit perfectly, which he promptly through across the tent in a fit of annoyance.

He'd never looked so sickeningly adorable in his entire life.

Seething with rage, he dug fiercely into his pocket, praying to whatever deity was out there that at least one item of his manhood still remained. But alas, they'd taken that from him too – his beautiful, steel-encased combat knife was nowhere to be found. He was greeted with a telltale hole in his pocket that seemed to mock him further. He desperately began to dig around in the straw, hoping ot find his knife, but perhaps even fiercer hoping to find his real clothes.

_"Little boy blue, come blow your horn…"_

The singsong voice repeated, and Luigi's eyes narrowed further. Whoever it was, he was certain now that they must be the source of his problems. Now that he had a suspect, the anger burned hotter with his frustration at the lack of weaponry and surplus of shame he was enduring.

"Yeah, how 'bout I blow your fuckin' head off?" he growled, pushing himself to his feet with a grunt. He ignored any further pains his body afforded him as he made his way out of the tent, head darting back and forth in an animalistic fashion as he searched for the source of the noise. It seemed to be coming from further off in the distance, around a few stalls to the right of him. Ignoring any further questions his brain seemed to be coming up with about his location, Luigi pushed his way through the maze of tents and displays, determined to find the source of his mockery.

Surprisingly enough, it didn't take him very long to find it.

Turning around a corner, he spotted what he could only assume were the owners of the two voices he'd heard earlier, engaged in some strange sort of game. One was a man, wearing a shiny red suit and a cape, both of which were looking rather worse-for-wear. His face was slathered in so much greasepaint that Luigi could see it shining from there, and on top of his head was a top hat. A circus freak if he'd ever seen one. The other was a girl, who admittedly looked rather attractive figure-wise, wearing some strange sort of leotard-corset combination with what appeared to be a cage surrounding her waist. Closer examination would reveal it to be a hoop skirt, but Luigi wasn't exactly one who paid attention to women's clothing; he much preferred what was underneath. She too was wearing greasepaint, though it seemed less cakey and smeared than the others.' Obviously being a broad, she probably knew what she was doing with it better than the man.

However, all this went relatively unnoticed once he saw just what the two were doing.

The man was bent over forwards on his haunches, crouching down low against the dirt and giggling eagerly. The girl behind him grinned, leaning forward against his back and springing herself over top of his shoulders, landing in a similar position. They then switched positions, and repeated the process over and over again.

They were playing leapfrog.

It took a few moments of staring before Luigi finally snapped back to the task at hand. Shaking his head at the strangeness of the situation, he stomped down the dirt pathway towards them, ready to give these two freaks what-for.

"Hey!" He shouted, but neither seemed to notice him. Oh, now that was a mistake. Luigi Largo did not get ignored like some worthless peasant; he was important, someone to be reckoned with…even if he was dressed in lederhosen. "HEY!" He shouted louder this time, expecting some sort of reaction, or at least a little startled jump. But no, they just continued with their game as though he weren't even there.

He could have sworn he felt a blood vessel popping in his forehead from his frustration.

Normally, he would have simply taken out his knife and begin to stab first, ask questions later. But with no feasible weapon in sight, all he had to work with was his voice…or perhaps something he might find nearby. Glancing around along the ground, his eyes widened slightly as he found something. Without warning, Luigi picked up a handful of rocks, chucking them at the two circus people, with another "HEY" for good measure.

_That_ enticed a reaction.

First the man fell forward on his face with a faint 'oof,' the rock striking the back of his neck rather hard. The girl, having been positioned and ready to jump over the man's back, landed on him instead once the rocks had struck her rear. She turned her head sharply in Luigi's direction, her dark curls bouncing around her little face, and growled at him. Now that he could see her face, the Largo was struck with an odd sense of familiarity. Something about the girl made him think he'd seen her before, perhaps beneath the thick layers of greasepaint and lipstick that covered her face. The scowl that twisted her features, however, reminded him that he should be focused on other things then where he might have seen the broad.

"Hey, that wasn't very nice!" The other man interrupted from the ground below, trying to push himself up from the ground. The girl on his back was obviously making things difficult. "Um, Wick? Little help?"

The girl rolled her eyes, standing and jerking the man up in seemingly one motion, all without taking her eyes off Luigi. Now that they were all standing to face one another, Luigi could see that he clearly held the upper hand. The girl only came up to his shoulder (barely), and while the other man was almost exactly the same height as he, by the looks of him, he wasn't the fighting type.

But that wasn't the first thing that struck him.

Getting a better look at the other man, he could see now that height wasn't the only likeness they shared. He eyed him strangely for a moment, taking in the contours of his face; the wrinkles and lines that made him. And, for a briefer moment, the carny looked back with that same bewilderment. Sure, he was covered in white greasepaint, smoky eyes, pink lips, and a gay little pencil moustache (that had been _drawn in_, for Christ's sake), but underneath all that…they looked oddly similar. Extremely so.

However, this moment soon passed, as he glanced back in the girl's direction again, who seemed to be giving him an odd combination of the stink eye and a snarl.

Oh, they'd be sorry they ever _looked_ at him when he was through with them.

He sneered at the girl's glare, but rather than grow angrier, Luigi was surprised to see that her scowl seemed to melt away as she got a better look at him. Looking him up and down, she suddenly grinned, and clasped her hands together in what seemed like an inappropriately gleeful fashion. "Hey, you're finally awake!" She smiled up at him, elbowing the Magician with a snicker. "It got so _boooring_ waiting for you, sleepy head!

"Do you like the outfit we chose for you?"

And just like that, Luigi's anger reached a boiling point. The confusion from his face was gone, replaced with a more present rage that took the form of bright red ears and cheeks on the Largo. Without skipping a beat, he grabbed her by the shoulders, pressing in close to her face with a growl. Rarely did he allow himself to get this angry without some form of release, but without a weapon, that wasn't much of an option. There were many things he could express his anger about, but the main focus of his rage was centered around on thing:

"Where. Is. My. Knife," he hissed out through clenched teeth, so close he could feel her giggling breath on his face. Much to his shock, the girl laughed, and leaned in closer to press her lips chastely against the end of his nose. Before he could strangle the poor bitch, however, she seemed to melt out of his arms, appearing behind him without warning. Next, the other man was in his face, an equally-annoying grin on his face as well.

"Ah-ah-ah…" he chastised, waggling his finger in the other's face. "Mustn't be too rough, now. Really, ya can't blame us for being a bit…apprehensive, now can you?"

"Heehee, he's such a rude little boy, isn't he, Magician?" The girl giggled from behind, latching onto Luigi by wrapping her arms and legs around him. He nearly stumbled backwards before the Magician caught his hands, pulling him forward before he could make a single protest. He skipped backwards rather haphazardly, with Wick hanging like a child playing piggyback. The only thing keeping Luigi from cursing them both were Wick's hands, which were now clamped firmly over his mouth with a grip that seemed unusually strong for a girl. Particularly one her size…

The Magician dragged him over towards a booth (that Luigi could have sworn hadn't been there before), abruptly letting him go once they'd reached it. Wick also chose this moment to leap off of his back over his shoulders, causing the Largo to fall backwards without a warning. The two carnies couldn't help but giggle as he stumbled over, ignoring the obscenities that followed his descent.

Luigi, however, didn't take so well to the fall. The pain that he'd woken up with returned to his head as he hit the dirt, and he was less than pleased once he'd managed to sit up again. At this point, he had decided that this was all either some fucked-up dream (possibly Zydrate-induced), or Karma was a bigger bitch than he'd ever imagined. Eying the two carnies with the most frustrated glare he could muster, he lividly asked, "What the _fuck_ is goin' on here?" He grit his teeth as their smirks seemed to grow, mocking his distress. "Who are psychos? And what kinda fucked-up freak show is this place? I ain't got the time for this circus gimmicky bullshit. Do you fuckers even know who I _am_?"

Now it was the Magician who started to snicker. He glanced at Wick from the corner of his painted eyes, his mouth curving into a devilish grin. Luigi was starting to get uncomfortable around this guy…he made the psychotic little clown girl look perfectly sane.

Then again, Luigi generally took it as a cardinal rule not to trust guys in makeup.

"Ohoho, we know plenty about who you are, Mister Largo," his voice seemed to have an expression all its own, purring a response that made Luigi's eyes widen momentarily. The oldest Largo scoffed at himself; of course they knew who he was; who didn't? But the way the carny had phrased it..it just didn't set well with him.

"_Lots_," Wick purred with him, leaning against the Magician's shoulder with a wink up at her counterpart.

Luigi sneered up at the two of them. He disliked being talked down to. No, he _hated_ it. Especially when it was by stupid peasants who didn't know a damn thing about him, no matter what the tabloids and newspapers said. They didn't know him, not really. Any who were they to talk down to him in the first place, whether they knew him or not? They were a couple of circus freaks in cheap costumes and crappy makeup, while he was the heir to the world's most important company to ever exist. Modesty aside, Luigi stood to his feet, staring them down coldly, challengingly.

"Oh really?" He replied, a strange, unusual calmness to his voice. There were different types of anger for Luigi Largo; sometimes it was hot, burning like a flame behind his eyes and scorching his vocal cords as he spoke. Other times it was cool as ice, calm, patient. The latter was usually the more affective at getting what he wanted…though of course, it didn't last for long before it would turn into the former. "Then enlighten me, Bozo. Just what sorta game are you two gutter sluts trying to pull? You don't know shit about me. You think you know so much, then fuckin' prove it. Otherwise you and Tippy over there are gonna wind up two grease stains on the rug."

Wick dramatically gasped, as though she were offended, before glancing back at the Magician with a smirk. Eying each other for a moment, they at last shrugged, before the Magician reached underneath the booth to grab something. From a draw inside, he pulled out a little brass knob, which he fastened onto the slanted end of the booth's front. Next, he pulled out his wand from a pocket inside of his cape, holding it between his hands like a baton. "Why bother explaining," he smirked, tapping the sloped end of the wood and grasping the brass within his hand. "…when we can just show you?"

With that, he pulled back on the knob, lifting the wooden front up like a lid. Inside was an equally slanted board filled with holes in three different rows. Each hole was marked with a numerical value, the highest going up to six hundred-sixty-six in the top row. There was only one hole there, and beside the rows, there was a large wooden mallet. Luigi scoffed in confusion and sarcasm. Typical cheap carnival gags.

"That's it?" He retorted, clearly unimpressed. "A game?"

"Games can bring out the best in people," the Magician insisted, narrowing his eyes teasingly to match his mocking smirk. "Or the worst."

"Not to mention they're tons of fun," Wick purred into his ear, appearing at Luigi's side again. Her body curved against his own, her fingers lightly teasing his collar her red lips threatened to stain. There was feeling of familiarity again…that voice was so annoyingly similar to someone he'd heard before, though he couldn't for the life of him place who. Sneering, he started to push her away, but she had left his side to return to the Magician's before he could blink.

That was getting annoying.

"The rules are simple," the Magician began, tapping the board once more. The tip of his wand kept lighting up like a sparkler, but rather than simply lighting the board on fire like Luigi expected, it embossed the font of the numbers, drawing greater attention to their value. Each increased as you went up, but there seemed to be no other pattern as to how. Some increased by fives, others by twos, and some by hundreds. _Must have been cheaply made_, he thought to himself with an eye roll. Still, the special affects the clown was working with that wand seemed fairly impressive for such a run down little place. Suddenly, a title appeared above the holes: "Wack-a-Frog."

"Take the hammer, and hit as many frogs as you like," he smiled. "I'll be the game master."

Wick perked up suddenly, her head appearing in one of the holes. "And _I'm_ the lovely assistant," she grinned proudly. She just barely managed to duck out of the way as Luigi's mallet came crashing down onto the hole.

"No, no," the Magician chastised, gripping the handle of the mallet (and Luigi's fingers) with a tighter grip than one would expect. Luigi immediately opened his mouth to curse, his face reddening at the threat of human contact, but the Magician's other hand quickly stopped the protest. "The trick is not to hit the girl," he explained, the playfulness in his eyes flickering with warning that forced Luigi to bite back his tongue. The gloved fingers around his hand and mouth loosened too soon for him to bite or struggle, but something stopped him from cursing aloud, even as the hand was removed.

Taking a deep, forced breath through his nose, Luigi stared at him resentfully, his words coming out in a slow growl. "Is that the catch, then?"

Wick and the Magician glanced at one another once again, smirks playing over their features. That was starting to get annoying, too; and suspicious. Luigi wasn't in the mood for their shifty carnival crap. Come to think of it, he wasn't in the mood for this carnival in the first place…but he supposed the sooner he humored them with this game, he supposed, the sooner he'd get out.

"Well you never know just what you're gonna catch till ya try and fish, now do ya?" The Magician chuckled, and Luigi could see this would be the only answer he'd get out of the clown. Rolling his eyes with a frustrated sigh, he gripped the hammer in his fingers, holding it above his head expectantly. A final grin was exchanged between the two carnies, and at last, the Magician started the game.

The first few hits were simple. A little wooden frog would pop up, and down his mallet would fall, sending it right back down into the hole. Loathe though he was to admit it, Luigi could say one thing about the game; it was a great stress reliever. Again and again his mallet would fall with surprising accuracy, so hard sometimes that he swore he could hear the frogs beginning to splinter.

Then, the frogs began to move faster, popping up sometimes two at a time. Luigi began to get frustrated, but struggled on, seemingly lost in the game. Wick would pop up too, and Luigi's mallet would halt halfway, just barely missing her dark pigtails that bobbed up and down with her. The carnies laughed, provoking the Largo further as he struggled to stay on top.

He stopped paying attention to the scores; they'd climbed rather high by now, that was all he knew. The pounding in his head from before was beginning to grow worse, but he ignored it, so focused was he on the game.

The frogs seemed to be coming faster and faster; but now, they didn't seem so froglike. A few, he could have sworn, had a face. Faces he knew, faces he'd met before, or thought he'd met before. Women he'd seen before…GENterns? Amber's valets…Amber herself…even bloody Pavi had popped up a time or two. He hit them harder than the rest, "unintentionally." His vapid, whiny little sister, whose face seemed to change every time his mallet struck. And Pavi, fucking Pavi…the little shit looked almost normal before he'd splintered and chipped the wooden face into tiny pieces.

_It hadn't been the first time,_ a voice seemed to whisper.

He paused for a split second, decided he was simply hearing things, and pressed on.

_You haven't learned a thing; have you, Luigi?_

He ignored it once again, pounding into his father's face a little harder than he'd intended.

_The smartest and the toughest, as always._

"Shut up!" He shouted to the voice, glancing up at the male carny in front of him. The Magician shrugged innocently, shaking his head with a smile as Luigi begrudgingly returned to the game.

_'I will find a hole and fuck it.' That's you motto, isn't it? Well now's your chance. Mind the splinters, now._

"Shut _up_," he demanded again, not even looking up now. His mallet worked more feverishly, hitting empty holes as the frogs darted in and out too fast for him to see. Wick became harder to dodge, and for a moment, he thought he saw two of her pop up at once. But no, that was impossible, wasn't it? Must be his eyes playing tricks on him now, to match his ears.

_You'll inherit everything, won't you? Funny how that worked out, isn't it? You've got no one to blame but yourself, after all. _

The pounding in his head was growing worse, straining his eyes and making him pant with frustration. Shaking his head only made things worse, and did little to block out the sounds of the voice, and the carnies' laughter.

_Just look at you. That's all you were in life, just pushing your problems away and making them someone else's problems. But what's a few hospital trips, anyway? They were only broken bones. And who cares about someone else's funeral? Not your problem, right? And what did your family matter, anyway? They were all just in your way._

His hand was beginning to cramp, the frogs flashing before his eyes too fast to be seen. Wick darted back and forth between the holes, a little black and white flash, the mallet grazing her skull once or twice as it came down. The Magician only grinned as he watched, the score climbing higher and higher as Luigi just kept pounding himself down.

_Problems have a funny way of coming back to find you, Luigi._

His mallet stopped in mid-air. Frozen, Luigi looked down, the pounding in his head stopping as well. Wick, reaching up from the top hole, held the bottom of the mallet in her hand, a triumphant smile painted on her red lips. Waving her finger and shaking her head in a definite no-no gesture, she gripped the end of the mallet harder, the wood splintering in her grasp. Luigi looked back up at the Magician, wide-eyed, to see him grinning widely and chuckling.

He found himself staring into his own face then, as though it were a mirror image, blackened and bruised around the head and neck. Two obvious handprints were twisted around his throat, and the memory flooded back to him so suddenly he felt like he was choking again. The bruises that covered him were round and flat, and it became aware to him that it was almost as though someone else had been hitting him with the mallet while he'd been playing the game.

This awareness did not last long. A man can only sustain so many blows to the head, after all, before some irreversible damage has been done. He fainted dead away, and it was not long before his strained breathing came to a halt, a little blood trickling from his ear and nose.

The Magician chuckled along with Wick, who carefully climbed out of the booth, broken mallet still in her hands. The two grinned at one another like the old friends they were, thoroughly pleased with themselves at their first act in months. Handing the mallet over to him, Wick smiled in obvious glee as the Magician raised the jagged edges of the splintered end above his head, a devilish smirk on his painted face as he looked down at the poor sinner.

_"What goes around comes around, pal."_

* * *

Lucifer turned the final page with a sigh, frowning only slightly. His tongue clucked in disapproval, but it was an understanding sort of displeasure. Like a parent who'd been informed that their child had once again fed their peas to the dog underneath the table, Lucifer understood that sinners were not perfect, ironically unlike his counterpart. There was always next time for the Largo to prove himself…and the next time, and the next time after that, until he got it right.

A sinner being made into a carny was a rare occurrence in itself. Even for sinners as experienced as this, it was difficult to be expected of their first time through the carnival. Most of the carnies here were of his first battalion several eons before, when rebellion was less common and more harshly penalized. The last time he'd found a sinner worthy of the carnival had only been within the last few years, and she had been alone in her effort.

And now, she was better than most of his original carnies.

Smiling fondly for a moment as he watched over his two servants celebrating their small victory, he began to turn the page once again to the next story.


End file.
